His Abdication
by dramionejunkie
Summary: What hurts more than getting your heart broken? Knowing you might’ve had a chance and realising that you’re too late.


**Demi's first ever fic.**

**Demi's attempt at a one-shot.**

**Go easy on Demi.**

**Demi loves you.**

**Summary: **What hurts more than getting your heart broken? Knowing you might've had a chance and realising that you're too late.

_He was too late._

Draco Malfoy had known that well before he started. It was odd that he was still running as fast as he was. In his mind he knew the truth—the girl that he was irrevocably in love with was long gone already. His disobedient heart, however, refused to believe it; filled itself with aching hope. He had never _ever_ before in his life even considered his heart over his head. He assumed that after all of this madness, he would live to regret what he was doing. But not once had it occurred to him to stop. And he wouldn't. Not for the world.

He hardly noticed the many groups of seventh years waiting respectively by the door for their last ever trip to Hogsmeade. It vaguely reminded him that his last year at Hogwarts was finally coming to an end. And he didn't care. He couldn't care—couldn't think about anything but her. Wouldn't spare a millisecond for anything else.

Not until he realised that there was a blockade by the door. McGonagall and Filch were checking off students and letting them through the door in what he would call an excruciatingly slow pace. This would not do.

His thoughts flashed to her again; Draco was struggling with every minute of the day trying and failing not to think of her. He could hardly keep the impatient sneer of his face, recklessly shoving through the crowd, sending McGonagall and Filch flying out the door a few metres back. If he was in his normal state of mind he would have enjoyed that.

The break through the seventh years' mob had not gone unnoticed. He could faintly hear Filch shouting at his frantically running self; almost pictured the ugly scowl on the man's face and the disapproving gaze he could nearly feel probing his back from McGonagall. Suddenly he could no longer hear Filch's voice, and to his amazement heard Dumbledore's, calm as always, attempting to soothe Filch.

"Now now, Argus, I'm sure Mr Malfoy has a good reason for his hastiness. Just mark his name off the list and leave him be." He shot a look over his shoulder and saw Dumbledore's tall figure, a hand on Filch's bony arm; leading him back to the castle. That man knew too much, Draco grudgingly observed.

He snapped his head back and raced towards the awaiting students and the trail of eerie threstral-pulled carriages. He irritatingly noticed that the area was just as busy as the wait at the Hogwarts' door. Students were lined against the path, all eagerly chattering and slowly boarding the coaches. The snow crunched beneath his hessians as he made his way towards the packed trail; wind harsh against his hair and the weather; ghastly cold. Fortunately, that was something else he could hardly register.

His steel grey eyes, almost as deep and callous as the sky, were rapidly scanning the landscape for her. His eyes raked over every head, every leg, and every body he could see. He was holding his breath as he frustratingly continued searching for the only person that mattered to him. He wasn't sure how many minutes had passed when he was on his fifth time of searching; not willing to admit that she was not there. He could feel his heart rising higher and higher up his body, until he could feel it in his throat, a painful tightness he wished her absence couldn't trigger. His fingers were clenched into fists on either side of him, his knuckles a colour that could challenge the snow. He knew the scowl had long slipped from his face and that it had been replaced with a grimace of desperation.

He tried to ignore the heat in his eyes and the weakness that almost suddenly erupted in his legs. His stance trembled and he abruptly felt like the weight of his body was too much for him; finally giving in, falling down onto his knees in the layer of snow. His eyes finally snapped from the scene and he was looking at the ground in an attempt to hide the tear that leaked from the corner of his eye.

He had run as fast as he could and yet even that could do nothing to change the fact that she was already gone. Failure hit him hard and bitter against his chest. A tear slid onto his lip and he could clearly taste the salty flavour of it blended with the hurt that had seeped uncontrollably from his heart. Another and another and another trickled unwillingly from his eyes until he could feel the burning path of each one down his cheek.

The sting was nothing compared to the hollow feeling inside of him; like someone had turned him upside down and emptied the contents leaving him empty like a carved, useless piece of wood. He could do nothing to bring her back to him; could do nothing to stop the tears from flowing; nothing to make the pain stop just like he could do nothing for her.

His mind tore itself back and he recalled what his mother had told him the night before she died.

"Never take the one you can live with. Take the one you can't live without." It had certainly been that way with her—Narcissa could not live without Lucius and him, her.

Draco had never before found someone in his life he couldn't live without. Not until now; until he realised the one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, the person that he was in love with, was the one person he couldn't have.

He disregarded the now rather deserted clearing, looking up at the sky, trying in vain to seek guidance from his mother—if anyone was up there. There was nothing but the dark grey clouds shielding any attempts of the sun to shine through; the gloomy dim enclosing him, matching his terribly melancholic mood.

He smudged the tears with the back of his hand wishing very much that he wasn't so weak and affected by her. The wind was blaring against his ears, and he tried to block it away—to block out his feelings, burying his head in his hands. He could feel fresh teardrops splashed against his palms, and he ignored the uncomfortable wetness. He muffled a sob into his palm, biting his lip until he drew blood to prevent the next one from escaping his mouth.

Through chafed lips, Draco whispered, "Tell me, mother. What if the person you can't live without—can live without you?" His voice broke at that and the rest was lost to the wind. He was too busy wallowing in his own sorrows to realise there was a person—a girl—walking alone up the snowy path.

Her chestnut curls were pulled into a loose ponytail and she pushed a stray strand behind her ear as she strode up cautiously to his curled—almost pained form, taking in the dishevelled blonde hair, wet snow and smudged blood on his palm. "Malfoy?"

He could barely hear her voice; the blizzard weather had gotten the better of him—or perhaps it wasn't the weather at all...

He couldn't care less what she had to say. There was only once voice he wished to hear—and that voice was long gone. Suddenly there was warmth and the girl was crouching beside him, putting her scarf around his neck.

"I can't believe you're out here all alone. Look at the weather—what the hell were you thinking?" He didn't move—couldn't move really, and let her brush the snow out of his hair, her warm body uncomfortably close. He was about to reply, to tell her to piss off and let him die, but there was a new voice—a male's.

"What are you doing, love? I told you to go—" the boy's voice trailed off, and Draco could feel the boy's gaze shift to him. The girl didn't say anything and just began transferring her gloves to his icy, pale hands; the feel of her ultra soft skin making him screw his eyes shut momentarily.

_No, he couldn't._

Draco felt another gust of wind pass through him—felt every little cold particle of it on his skin. He was beginning to feel rather faint. A bucket of guilt fell upon his head as he tried not to notice how good it felt to be cradled by this girl. Instead, he began to push her off, trying to edge away from her glowing warmth.

He felt bile rise in his throat, and he began to develop a loathing for the stranger girl—she felt more like his lover than he would've liked. Tears came again as an image of her fell in front of his eyes. The pain revitalised itself, more tears blurring his vision and the last thing he saw was a flash of familiar brown curls.

"I thought I'd lost you..." he murmured more to himself than to her, though from the way her back tensed, she had heard it. He was fading faster and faster away, black dots forming in his vision. "Hermi—" was all he managed to whisper before he regretfully fell unconscious in her arms; well aware of the fact that she wasn't a stranger at all.

**FIN.**

**:)**

**A/N: Let me know what you thought of my first fic. If anything.**


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